I Threw Us Into The Flames
by FromPrussiaWithLove
Summary: With a model of a mother, photographer of a father, and a brother already committed to the agency, Ludwig Weillschmidt should have seen this day coming. However, his mother still surprised him with the application which shapes his future for better or worse, but a repetition of recent history threatens his infant career, family, and relationships. Please Review.
1. Don't Disappoint

**And I Threw Us Into The Flames.**

**Summary:** With a model of a mother, photographer of a father, and a brother already committed to the agency, Ludwig Weillschmidt should have seen this day coming, yet his mother still surprised him with the application in which he is to sign away his soul.

**Rating:** M, for future chapters.

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia: Axis Powers _and all of its characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. _Wilhelmina_ is an actual worldwide professional modeling company, which I am just using for a fictional story. The following story is a fictional piece combining both of these two things.

**Chapter One: Don't Disappoint.**

I should be praising Himmel und Gott that I got eighteen measly years of 'freedom.' They didn't wait a single second later; on October 6th at six in the morning, I was given an application for Wilhemina. We are the Weillschmidts, happy family that doubles as beautiful people. Ha-ha, we don't _double _as beautiful people, but I wish that were the case. I could opt out of this if it were. We've always been well off, big house, expensive clothes, and apparently 'natural beauty.' Whereas mein älterer Bruder was shoved into the business at first possible chance; I got to choose when I wanted to. However, turning it down wasn't an option.

A fifty dollar pen looms over the paper; meine Eltern insisted I use this _exact_ pen as if the people could tell the difference between this and a pen from OfficeMax. I could just completely screw up this application, but somehow, I'd still get in. It's not about the words but the connections. Every teenage girl in the world would kill to be me now, but I don't feel happy or flattered by this. I slowly and neatly pen my name; everything else is checked off for me. All I have to do is sign, sign my mess of a signature.

"I'm home!" I hear meine Mutter's voice echo throughout the house; a sigh escapes my lips. Her designer heels can be heard clacking towards my room. As she opens the door, she speaks. "Have you finished that form yet? It's four! If you're lucky, I can get it to the agency's office before it closes for the day."

"I'm almost done." I inform. My hand still looms over the signature line.

"Don't worry about it, you'll get in _no matter what_." She supports as she looks over my shoulder. "All you have to do is sign anyway. It's not that hard."

"I don't think the modeling agency is my cup of coffee." I try to escape.

"Ludwig, you are made of genes from a master photographer and a model; you _are_ definitely the modeling agency's cup of coffee, perfect pedigree." I'm not a dog...

"Well," her eyes glare through my head. My hand obeys without question and drags a loopy signature over the line. Before I can regret it, the application's in her hand, and she's walking out the door.

"Your brother is a beauty and the agency's treasure, and they can't wait to have both of you." She calls as she leaves the house. They love Bruder because he's so unusual, and face it, red eyes catch _anyone_'s attention. On the other hand, I look like mein Vatter and belong behind a camera...

– –

I walk into the office of the Sean Patterson. I didn't know what exactly to wear for an interview to be a model. I was dressed up slovenly in hopes of losing the career chance but Mutti caught me walking out the door. He sits at his desk; his eyes judging me from head to toe. I fake a smile when his eyes meet mine.

"Sit." He commands. No 'how are you' or 'hello.' I sit. "So, Ludwig Weillschmidt, Leoni and Alaric's son, Gilbert's younger brother, I'm shocked you weren't put up to the cameras like your brother."

"I got the chance to wait until I was eighteen." I state.

"Well," he opens a folder on his desk. "Your portfolio is promising and so is your family's reputation, but I want to know why you sound so reluctant to being here."

"As you know my father's a photographer, I think I belong behind a camera, not in front of it." I admit wholeheartedly.

"With eyes and a build like that, you definitely belong in _front_ of a camera." He compliments. "My concern is your confidence and social skills."

"Well," say what you have to say to get into Wilhelmina. "I have confidence in whatever I do after I get the basics down; as for social skills, I enjoy meeting several people." Lie. "I find it comfortable to be surrounded by people." Another lie. "I like to talk." Third lie. "I just like socializing." Final lie.

"My last question is 'when can you start?' I assume soon because your brother comes in twice a week because he's working on a shoot with another model Elizaveta Hedervary." He closes the folder. "He and Elizaveta are amazing with couple photos; it's almost like they're dating in real life."

"I've never seen his work, which I guess sounds fairly strange." I admit.

"He's here today if you'd like to go see it." He informs.

"May I?" I'm somewhat interested in the way this job _actually_ works.

"Of course, it's down the hall to your right, turn left, take the stairs, and then you'll find it. It's hard to miss, ha-ha." He holds his hand out. "It was great meeting you, Ludwig."

"You too, Mr. Patterson." I smile and shake his hand. My feet are already heading towards the door.

"Ah, Mr. Weillschmidt, you forgot your portfolio." He informs, and I was told to turn, smile, and say:

"Oh, keep it as a gift from the Weillschmidts." It sounds so narcissistic, but he doesn't say anything about it. I open the door and follow his directions; unfortunately, I have a horrible sense of direction and get lost. I wonder around until I spot a familiar head of white hair. I stare as Bruder poses so easily into something like a cardboard cut out. His red eyes stare at the camera through fake glasses; a smirk is pulled across his face, effortless. He looks up, jumps up, and walks over to me.

"Ke-se-se-se, so mein kleiner Bruder is finally joining in on the fun?" He jokes.

"I didn't have a choice." I reply flatly.

"George, get the boy some of those glasses. I think he needs to feel what it's like to be what everyone wants." He commands. 'George' brings me a pair of glasses, and Bruder drags me to the set. He pulls out his phone and presses it to his ear like he's making a call, leaning against my shoulder. I stare at him skeptically when the camera flashes. "Welcome to the world of the superficials, bruderlein."

**A/N:** I thought this idea was fairly unique. Should I continue? Please Review.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	2. Beginnings

**Chapter Two: Beginnings.**

I wait in my room, doing homework, until meine Eltern arrive. Ever since they got married, meine Mutter und mein Vater have always worked together. He is her photographer, and she is his model, always. It makes them happy, so what the hell, why not? I _hassen_ calculus; in a few minutes, I have my head on the desk. Calculus work abandoned. Sound travels faster through solids, so at seven, when the sun begins to descend from its high pedestal, the front door opens and shuts. Let the 'party' begin. I hear Mutti's designer heels on the hardwood floor staircase, in the hall, at my door, in my room. I pick up my pencil and pretend to be busy.

"I heard from Sean today." She sounds so excited.

"Ja?" My hand writes out the work for a problem.

"He said you're in." She hugs me close. "Your father and I are _so_ proud of you."

"I'm glad." Lie, I'd rather not be in this business, but it'll happen regardless. So I'll keep my mouth shut.

"Now, get downstairs, you father and I have exciting news." She walks out of the room without closing the door; it's a habit of hers. It peeves me.

"Oh _joy_." I shut my calculus book and walk downstairs. Bruder is in a button up shirt that sticks to his figure; Mutti is wearing a halter-top cocktail dress. Vati is dressed in a white button up and a back vest; I just have a t-shirt. I must look extremely under-dressed.

"So, your father and I have been asked to do something exciting!" Mutti claps her hands together.

"Make a sex tape? Ke-se-se-se," Bruder jokes; Vati smacks Bruder's arm playfully.

"Gil!" He barks.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Well, Alaric's friend works for a network, and he's interested in the lifestyle of models." Mutti explains excitedly. "And he thinks that our family would be perfect for it, especially since Ludwig is in the agency as well!"

"_Yay_..." My eyes roll with the sarcasm.

"I have to agree with him on this; it sounds like bullshit." Bruder complains.

"Well, it's happening." Mutti reminds.

"Fine, but they're not allowed in my room." I compromise.

"Of course, liebling." She pats my shoulder.

"Now, let's drink, Kumpels!" Vati hands Bruder and I a beer.

"I'm with you on that!" Bruder cracks it open on the counter. "Prost! To being a Weillschmidt!"

"Prost!" Vati taps his bottle to Bruder's

"I'll _never_ understand men and their beers." Mutti sighs as she turns to find the chef to discuss dinner; I stand with the bottle in my hands.

"Open the damn thing!" Bruder cracks it open on the counter and hands it back to me.

"Danke," I take a sip. Gott, I love beer.

– –

Our family got the show, stupid acquaintance of mein Vater. I watch the crew set up in our house, boom mic, high definition cameras, and everything else and walk upstairs to my room. My job is to model, not to be some reality tv show dipshit. My homework can occupy me until night time, but I need to go for a run too. There's a knock on the door, and when I open it, I meet with a man in his thirties, brown hair, emerald green eyes.

"Hi, I'm Steven." He holds out his hand, holding his camera in the other.

"Guten Tag," I shake his hand. "Who are you?"

"Well, this show is about your family, so there's a cameraman for each person. I'm yours." He smiles. "So, this is your room?"

"Ja," I close the door a bit, so his view of my room narrows.

"Room is off limits?"

"Ja," I turn around and shut the door behind me.

"Come on, Ludwig, you'll have to talk to the camera some time." He mentions through the door.

"Ja," I sigh. Well, run first, I slip into a pair of shorts, strap a thick, Velcro phone holder around my arm, and slip on sneakers. Placing the headphones in my ears, I walk out of my room, the house, and our property. I choose to listen to Die Prinzen and start running; running is easy, if you don't think about it. I notice someone running next to me, through my peripheral vision. Bruder? He smiles and then, turns to look forward. I pull out one of my headphones. "Are they coming with their cameras?"

"Nein," he swallows. "They're still setting up."

"What do you think of this whole thing?"

"Stupid Scheiße."

"Ha-ha, I agree." We turn left on the corner.

"So, with all these cameras around, when are we gonna –?"

"Well, they're banned from my room, and there's that bathroom that connects the rooms." I reason as I stop running to catch my breath.

"It's stupid." He pulls me into an alleyway.

"It is." I smirk as he presses his lips to mine.

"This is all Mutti's fault." He jokes.

"Ja, we can't date anyone she doesn't approve of, and she only approves of models. Ha-ha. Models are scary though..."

"I'm not scary; am I?" He nuzzles my neck with his nose.

"Natürlich nicht."

"Let's vögeln tonight." He whispers in my ear. Hard to believe that _I _was the one that came onto _him._

"Ja, let's head home," even though we're not that far away.

"In the shower, bitte." He follows me out of the alley.

"You and your weird Fantasien."

"Du liebst mich." He laughs as he starts to run; I follow him. This is going to get complicated.

**A/N:** I apologize for the short chapter. Hope you like it so far, and please check out my first one-shot, _Brüder_ (because then I will love you forever and worked really hard on that). Please review for continuation (and do you want Germancest or a different pairing because I tend to do Germancest a lot[?]).

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	3. Sony Alpha NEX 7

**Chapter Three: Sony Alpha NEX-7**

**A/N:** I don't speak German, so I apologize for my improper sentence structures and so on. Google can be a liar sometimes (most of the time). However, I may decide to learn sometime soon if I have the time.

We walk into the house, make our ways to our rooms, lock the doors, and meet in the joint bathroom which we lock as well. Bruder kisses me with urgency, and I let him have his way. However, I would like to emphasize that I don't see the necessity of urgency. His hands are under my shirt, brushing against my skin, and this, alone, is good enough to get some arousing pleasure. What? His hands are soft and know what they're doing. I pull his shirt over his head, and mine soon follows. I know, you are reading this and wondering what sick impulse brought this onto he and I. What crazy shit happened to get me – us – into this?

– –

Well, to be literal, it was brought on by a project in one of my classes, photography. Now, every photographer, amateur or professional, has a really nice camera, right? Not really, I'm the dummkopf who showed up to a _photography _class _without_ a _camera_, and so that was my first experience with photography. By the second week, I had rummaged through a bunch of storage and found an old camera of mein Vater's. It sufficed. However, as my photography progressed, the performance of the camera only regressed, which – as you would think – hindered my grade, so I started doing odd jobs, stupid favors to raise money to buy my own camera. Ja, I could have just asked my parents, but school was where I could be normal and pretend I didn't come from beauty psycho Weillschmidts. If you asked anyone, they'd tell you I was most likely middle class, and that's how I wanted it. Showing up with a Sony Alpha NEX-7 – which is about $1,189.99 - $1,349.99 – would clearly not add up, so I secretly raised money.

I raised three hundred dollars in two months; I was clearly getting nowhere. Call it childish, but I had a jar – actually, I still have it – with a mark of $1,269.99. I remember the little bits of accomplishment when I deposited money in that stupid thing; 'just a little bit closer,' I'd tell myself. I made a schedule to count it at the end of every two weeks and write a post-it note with the current total. It would have been a lot easier if I didn't need a work permit, for me, being sixteen sucked. That day, I had finished counting and was writing the post-it note, when Bruder walked into my room. He never knocks. His mouth was open as if to say something, but instead, his eyes just focused on my childish jar of savings. _"What do you need that costs $1,269.99?" Well, it could cost up to $1,349.99... "Is it a ticket and life's savings to run away? Ke-se-se-se." Nein, it's for something. "Have Vati get it, or are you still playing the poor kid at school?" We're in the same school. "People think we're two different Weillschmidts, so what is it?" For a camera for photography. "Once again, just have Vati get it." Nein, I don't want to. "Fine."_ And then, he sauntered out of my room. The next day, I came home. My jar was empty, and the Sony Alpha NEX-7 was sitting on my bed in its box. A post-it read 'I paid the difference.' Maybe, that was the first time that I felt something emotionally for Bruder besides the standard family affection. Anyone would for a thousand dollar camera. If you don't, then I apologize, but you're an ass.

I liked photography a lot; it made sense to me. Here's a camera; your assignment is to show people how you see the world. Apparently, I was good at it too. It felt nice, to be able to show everyone what I saw; however, they thought I was colorblind for a while because I didn't like pictures in color. Personally, I think color is a distraction from the picture that is _actually_ there, but back to my point. I got an assignment to create a portfolio of photos of something that truly – don't you love how Mr. Lawless added that – fascinates you. I attempted symbolic approaches but soon realized that one, that it was stupid and two, that it was wasting my memory space, so I sat down and composed a list of things that fascinated me. I had nothing; well, I had _one_ thing, Bruder. Maybe, it was just because he was practically made for cameras to be attracted to him; I'll never know. Of course, even if he is a professional, he most definitely caught me with my camera soon enough, then came the questions. _"What are you doing?" Practicing focus? "Nein, really, what the fuck are you doing?" Finishing a photography assignment. "Shouldn't you ask before you take pictures of people?"Don't flatter yourself, I was take a picture of the view from the window. "Nein, you were taking it of me. I'm awesome and all, but what the hell?" It's nothing, sorry. _I honestly don't know why I grew attracted to him, but at this point, I acknowledged it, kept it to myself. However, whenever you acknowledge something, you tend to give yourself away by over-thinking everything, which I did. I also started avoiding him; basically, I became the typical girl with her typical crush.

When the question came around, I choked; was I _that_ obvious? How awkward would it be now? I had nothing to say an just stared at my feet; my head hanging in shame. It was sick, and I knew it was but still wanted it, wanted it bad. I expected ridicule and disgust, but all he said was "_Why?"_ My mouth opened, but my reasons didn't seem valid. I shut my mouth and kept staring at the ground. 'Expect disappointment, you sicko.' That's what was repeating throughout my brain, and I was prepared for it. However, I wasn't prepared for his response; his lips touched mine. Things gradually progressed, like relationships ought to. Our justification: we can't have children together, so it's no big deal.

– –

Showers are wonderful, and sex is great. So shower sex should just be awesome? In my opinion, nein. Showers are for showering, and sex is for fucking, basic. Behind locked doors, we are animals and love every second of it. It's difficult though because I can't ravish him like I want to. I want to cover his body in marks, but I can't because his body is his job. He realizes the same thing, and a sigh escapes his lips.

"Lutz," he bites my ear playfully even though his voice is filled with disappointment. "We can't do it rough, and I don't like it gentle."

"So what now?" I ask.

"I mean, I can blow you, but there's this photo thing for some stupid Calvin Klein underwear, and I –"

"I know, sorry, and you don't have to." I don't care for excuses. There are a few knocks on my door. I slip on some boxers, open the door, and get blinded by a red recording light. "What do _you_ want?"

"I'm just checking up on you, where's your brother?"

"Out with friends."

"Oh, I didn't see him leave."

"Then you're not doing your job."

"Well, how's it feel to be on TV?"

"It feels like shit." I close the door.

**A/N:** Before someone goes all camera tech on me, I'm clueless with cameras. I just chose one my friend wanted. Also, I have been behind on updates due to tending to the needs of three demanding kittens. I hope the month long wait wasn't a disappointment for you. Please review.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	4. Ivan Braginski

**Chapter Four: Ivan Braginski, with Gilbert.**

Bruder walks back to the bed and lies down next to me; his arm rests on my side. My mind wanders in the silence, remembering previous nights of previous passions. Involuntarily, I shake my head to forget those stupid days.

"What is it?" He asks.

"Nothing," I lie.

"It's always something." His blue eyes turn cold; jealousy is clear.

"I swear; it's nothing." I kiss his lips, and he bites back gently.

"I don't believe you," he laughs quietly.

"_He _used to do that." I mutter, accidentally.

"_He_? You mean Ivan..." His body tenses, and I pull away from him, jump onto my feet, and make my way to my room. He grabs my wrist; nostalgia throbs through my head. _Get away!_ "Why are you thinking about Ivan?"

"I just – it was just a random thought, nothing else. Guten Nacht." I try to pull away, avoid all talk of Ivan, the man who shamed me.

"Nein, Gilbert, you were told never to bring him up by unsere Eltern."

"I know, sorry." I slip my wrist out of his grip, make a dash for the door, and lock it behind me. "Guten Nacht." My back presses against the door as I slide to the floor. Ivan, why won't you ever leave me alone? _"How could you do _this_ to _us_, Gilbert?! How do you think _this_ makes _us_ look?!" _They're still ashamed of me, my stupid mistake. That's why I was so upset with Bruder's camera and his affection.

– –

I've been modeling since I was six, so my name and face had been around a lot when I turned eighteen. I met him at the end of my senior year, Ivan Braginski, a cold man with a kind smile. I learned that later than I would have liked to. I liked to pretend that I was normal, but I soon found out everyone knew I wasn't. So I embraced it, and then I met Ivan, who seemed clueless about my profession. He seemed kind and knew nothing of my career, so I wanted to be with him more often than not. I began to wonder if this attraction were friendship or in a romantic gesture; I couldn't tell.

He kissed me, and I realized then that it was what I wanted. Mutti strictly demanded I date a girl in another prestigious modeling career, so clearly, I kept Ivan and I on a low key. Kissing turned to touching; touching turned to sex. There was no questioning Ivan; he got what he wanted, _always_. He was rough, never apologized, only took, and _I_, well, _I_ let him have everything he wanted. _That hurt! "So what?" Sto– never-mind. "I thought so. Now, stop being stupid and lift your hips, whore."_ The names were the worst, yet, I believed I was in love. Love, what bullshit.

Anyways, he wanted to go to some prestigious multimedia school, and he had to submit a portfolio of something simply _extraordinary_. I won't _ever_ forget what he did. He called me with all urgency, demanding that I come and see him that instant. I did as requested. He kissed me at the door of his one room apartment and rushed me onto his bed, pulling at my shirt. I didn't mind, because as I said, I thought I was in 'love.' My shirt was abandoned on the edge of the bed, and my mind was lost in the lust. Maybe, if I were level-headed, I would have noticed the situation, but I didn't. I kissed him and pulled at his shirt, instead. His violet eyes consumed my attention, and when he lost his shirt, his pants soon followed. He sat up and stared at me. _"Suck it."_ He demanded so casually, and I didn't consider, just did as told. He was in my mouth, and I couldn't breathe as much as I'd prefer. His hand wandered over to my ass. _"You're such a slut."_ I had no preconception of 'love.' To me, 'love' was _this_. 'Love' ended with bruises of rough sex and bite marks instead of hickeys.

My eyes were opened to why this _wasn't_ love. They were opened wide when I saw what got Ivan a more than fair amount of money. He never told me; the newspaper and Mutti's open palm told me. _"You _just_ turned eighteen, and I have to deal with news like _this_!" I didn't know about it. "Since __when were you gay? And who the hell is he?!" … "Why is _my_ son showing up in the news with a sex tape?" I didn't – "I don't give a shit, Gilbert! What the hell were you thinking?!" I wasn't. "No shit!" _He sold me out. When they say modeling is like prostitution, they weren't kidding.

– –

I know the difference now. I love Ludwig and trust him. It's a pleasant feeling, to trust someone. I love him more than I should. I love how he tries so hard to please me, how he never really wants to hurt me, how he likes it rough, how he touches me, but I cling to him. I don't want him to leave me, and he was the one who sparked our relationship. However, I'm the one who fears him leaving.

"I know you're next to the door." He states bluntly.

"Nein, I'm in bed!" I reply.

"You're next to the door; I can hear you."

"Shut up."

"Hey, Gilbert."

"What?"

"I love you." _"You dumb whore." _Ivan won't ever go away. My hands pull at my hair to the point that it hurts. It wasn't love, but I can't just forget. I won't ever forget. I want to forget.

**A/N:** A peek into Gilbert's head.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	5. Blue and Gray

**Chapter Five: Blue and Gray.**

I stand in front of the mirror that occupies the wall of the bathroom, open the drawer to the left under the sink, and pick up a gray colored plastic bottle, much like the childproof plastic medicine bottles. My hand skillfully opens it and reaches for a bottle of solution. This may gross out some people, because some people are just squeamish about contacts and how people wear them to begin with, but it's not that gross really. Anyways, I flip the bottle with the open side down, so the little contact cage thing falls into the sink. One hand opens the cage while the other fills the bottle with solution. After all this, I remove one contact and then the other and place each in its respective side of the cage and drop it into the bottle and close it. I grab the glasses off the counter next to the sink and place them on my face. I stare at my reflection; it stares back at me. It dawns to me that I am a stranger to myself. The door opens on Gilbert's side of the door.

"Sorry," he whispers.

"It's fine." I assure.

"It's gotten even worse." His hand rests against my cheek on the right side of me face.

"They never said it would go back; in fact, they even said it was impossi-" His lips shut me up; his other hand rubs my thigh. "I have to shower."

"I do too." A smirk pulls at his lips.

"But you sai-"

"Fuck Calvin Klein." He whispers into my ear, and his tongue flicks against the rim of my ear. Just one movement, and my face is hot; my mind is wandering about all the things we've done and what we will do. His hands pull my cotton pants down to my ankles in one swift movement along with my boxers. "But first, you should fuck me." As he drops to his knees, his soft hair brushes my hands, and I always feel jittery here, anxiety-ridden. His hands touch my bare thighs, and his breathing against sensitive skin is making me hard. "And it's so _very obvious_ that you _want to anyway._" He purrs as his mouth moves ever so closely to my desire. His skilled tongue – equipped with skills that were taught by another – flicks against my hardening need. His hands work together. One holds my hips a comfortable distance away from his face, and the other rubs my thighs slowly and successfully arousing me. My hands shake as I pull my shirt over my head; he mimics me because why should he wear a shirt? We're going to be in the shower fucking like bunnies. His lips are soft and delightful when they go to _work_. Without a word or signal, his hand pulls my hips forward, forcing me to plunge into his mouth.

"Ah, mmmm," my arms support me against the bathroom counter; the feeling of the back of his warm throat on such sensitive skin makes spots dot my vision. His nose presses lightly against my skin, and I'm at a loss of how he can take all of me in his mouth so _effortlessly_. He pulls away, and now the air suddenly feels frigid.

"If I had to compete with you, I'd be as jealous as fuck, but you're mine, which means _this_," he sucks lightly on my length, "is mine." His mouth becomes a vacuum of pleasure, and I try to keep calm but _shit._ Within this vacuum, I can feel his tongue rub me thoroughly from tip to base. Once again, his skill is amazing and unforgettable. My stomach is turning – flipping, even. This well of pleasure feels like it's overflowing, on the edge of bursting, but then, he stops.

"Huh?" My eyes open, and _that_ smirk is on his face.

"I can't have you finishing yet! Not a single drop of you can be wasted!" He leans over to start the shower. "Besides, you have no idea how much I _love_ your taste, smell, touch." He grabs me hand and pulls me into the shower with him, when he shed his clothes, is somewhat of a question to me. My hand grabs my glasses to put them away, but he grabs me arm. "But you're so sexy with your glasses."

"Ha-ha, no, if they get wet, they'll get rust, and how would I explain them to the crazed perfectionist?" I nuzzle his neck with my nose, trying to convince him to let it go.

"Fine, but you'll have to go the extra mile to please me." He mumbles in disappointment. Once in the shower, I shove him into the wall as hundreds of rivulets of hot water stream down my back, luckily, the water won't ever go cold – that would suck. His lips open easily to my aggressive demand to be allowed to enter his mouth. Our tongues fight for dominance as our bodies press into each other. His fingers dig into my back; my mouth finds where his shoulder meets his neck. I bite gently to make sure that I've found the correct spot; I sure as hell have. One of his hands tangles in my hair and forces my head to stay against his skin. The bites become less gentle and more animal. "Mmmm, try a little harder than that."

"I haven't even gotten to show you rough." I hiss into his ear, and he knows I'm telling the truth. Oddly – or beneficially – our shower is the perfect space to fuck. There's an amazingly soothing shower-head but also an area just far enough away that you don't get bombarded with water, so he situates himself on the smooth porcelain floor of the shower. His ass is slightly risen as he waits; he jumps a bit when my hands touch his waist. His body tightens and flexes as my hands run down his back to his ass. My finger is almost pulled into the ring of muscles, which then graciously accepts another finger as he presses back onto my hand.

"Enough foreplay." His ass presses past my hand as I pull my fingers out and all the way to the head of my sex. My hands spread his ass in an ineffective way to loosen him the slightest while I enter him. Air escapes my lungs as I push forward, and his body tightens and pulls me in deeper. "Mein Gott!" He gasps as he presses his ass into my lap. My hands grab his waist firmly as I begin to move; my body desires the friction that only he can provide. Without warning, I'm already fucking him into the floor. My mouth is on his shoulder; my teeth are biting into his skin. My thrusts are met with his pushes, and they meet in almost perfect precision. He's moaning my name, and without removing myself from him, I turn him over to see his face. His hands are on my back; his nails are tearing my skin. Both only add fuel to the fire, and I kiss him as we bite each others lips raw. My hands are still holding an ironclad grip on his waist and pull his lower body up and closer to me. "_Scheiße! Oh, fuck~!_" One of his hands drifts down to his own sex and begins to rub at our furious pace. I suck on his collarbone, and I can feel my own control slipping away from me. Out of impatience and fear of losing this bliss, my body slams into his, hoping to attain more friction that cannot be met, and my skin is soon spattered with the steaming seed of his orgasm, which causes his walls to close ever so tightly and providing the friction that my body was pounding for.

"_Scheiße_..." I hiss as I begin to pull out, but his hands pull me closer.

"What did I say about wasting that?" He teases as I release inside of him. "_Ah~~!_" He buries his face n my shoulder. His mouth returns to my collarbone and sucks harshly, leaving his mark. He pulls me in for a sloppy kiss to complete his sexual high. I slowly thrust a few more times, and my hands loosen and slip to the floor of the shower. "Mmmm, I love when get like that." I lie on my side next to him and pull him into my arms. His red eyes stare into mine. "And as for those eyes, heterochromia is _so sexy_." He purrs into my ear.

**A/N:** It's been _over_ two months since I updated anything, so I apologize. Since it was so long, I almost forgot where I stood with all of my stories, but hopefully this continuation doesn't disappoint your expectations. My readers are very important to me, and so is their feedback. Please Review.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	6. School

**Chapter Six: School.**

My eyes snap open; it's 5:30. Gilbert's head is on my arm, and I'd love to stay. I kiss his forehead as I slip out of bed; I hate leaving him here to wake up alone. The floor is cold in the bathroom, and I am hesitant to flip the lights on. It's pitch black out, so I slowly shut the bathroom door before turning on the light. My left eye reflexively shuts at the greeting of the blinding light; as for my right eye, well, it's immune. My foot makes contact with a wad of clothes – our clothes, and I decide to throw his into his laundry hamper and throw mine in its respective place before I leave. My hands place my glasses on the side of the sink, open the contacts case, fish out the stupid cage, and put my contacts in my eyes. Now, my eyes are a consistent color, and I decide that shaving is unnecessary. My hands run water through my hair, and while placing the contacts case in its respective drawer, my hand grabs the minimal amount of hair gel and runs it through the hair on the left side of my head. Rarely, do I slick back all my hair; it's just school. Picking up my clothes, I turn off the light and walk back into my room; throwing the dirty clothes into the laundry, I grab a pair of jeans, socks, and a t-shirt. Dressing in a hurry, I collect my homework hastily into my bag as I quietly leave my room, making sure to close the door behind me. Slipping on a pair of shoes, I wander into the kitchen where Joey, the chef who I'm _supposed _to call by last name, is bustling about.

"Making breakfast for the Missus?" I joke.

"Of course, you know how your mother gets when things are wrong." Joey replies while focusing on his tasks at hand.

"And yet, my father is just happy to see breakfast when he wakes up, so very different."

"Ha-ha, your parents are good people, but I suppose you know that. And I suppose you're off to school before those nosy camera rats catch up, so there's coffee in the machine. You know where your thermos is."

"Thanks, Joey." I make my way around him to get to the coffee machine.

"I expect your brother will be up at the setting of the sun?"

"Nah, he's got something with Calvin Klein today; George'll drag Gilbert's butt out of bed regardless of what it takes."

"I'm glad that there's at least one other early bird here."

"I am too. Thanks for the coffee, and I'll see you around dinner." The idea that I have to walk to school isn't all that daunting. It's not like I can drive. I can't get my license because I never got my permit because I'm half blind. Besides, it's refreshing to walk in the chilled morning air and sip my coffee at my leisure.

– –

It's amazing how overwhelming a school can be, but only if you over think it. When you're like every other less than average intelligence high school student, you disregard the rest of the school and only see your schedule. Several times, people forget that there's a library, gym, or even another half of the school. Which in my opinion, is quite comical because our school isn't necessarily all that big, but I walk within the herd of a newly arrived bus down the main hall, watching the groups split off down their respective halls. Only a few are left by the time we arrive at the senior hall. Matt grabs my arm and drags me to our lockers, His dark brunette hair still stuck to his forehead from his shower this morning. His brown eyes are clouded with sleep, and his posture reflects his state of awareness.

"How can you be up this early?!" He whines, while messing up his locker combination repeatedly.

"I wake up two and a half hours earlier than this." I reply casually while opening my locker with ease.

"Fuck you, you go to bed at like seven." He rests his head against his locker – which he was never able to open.

"I go to bed at twelve, at the earliest."

"Congratu-fucking-lations." He returns to attempting to open his locker.

"Why thank you." Sarcasm soaks my words. "How's Anita?"

"PMS-ing like no other." The locker finally opens, as if to pity his situation. "How's your life? Completely awesome, that's how."

"Sure," I watch him situate himself for the day.

"And of course, you have a hickey, so you got lucky with she-who-shall-not-be-named because you haven't told me who _she_ is."

"Um, no."

"What?! Ludwig Weillschmidt denied sex when demanded?!"

"Hmmm, I'm not a sex addict."

"You get laid like one."

"Not really."

"Whatever, give me some of your coffee."

"Of course." I hand him the thermos.

"If I had your life, I'd be the happiest man on earth."

"I'm sorry to have robbed you of that." He punches me in the arm casually.

– –

Writing essays is easy, and this is the ideology that aides me in writing essays which grants me the best grades which leaves me teaching girls how to write essays instead of groom their hair all class. Shoot me now. Proofreading essay after essay sucks. Then when explaining the faults of the essay to these people is obnoxious. Just because you can rub my arm and contain estrogen doesn't mean I'm_ not_ going to say your essay sucks. I think this girl's name is Stephanie, but who cares? She can't differentiate 'it's' from 'its' and 'they're' from 'their' or 'there.' We've been through thirteen years of school – yes, thirteen, count kindergarten – and yet, people still confuse these.

"Do you know Gilbert Weillschmidt? Or are you two just different families with the same name?" Stephanie asks, oblivious to the fact that I am trying to teach her grammar.

"You see this is a – wait, what?"

"Are you and Gilbert Weillschmidt related or not?"

"Why?" A smirk pulls across her face.

"I was at the mall with Maria and Anna –" hell, if I know them "– and there was this wall-sized promotional for some glasses place."

"So? Glasses places need promotions to get people to stop leaving them for contacts, right?"

"I'm not done. Anyways, Gilbert Weillschmidt was on the left of the picture – and oh, my God, he's sexy as hell!" And he's _mine_. "But then there was this guy next to him, and he looked exactly like you. And I remembered that your last name is Weillschmidt, so are you related to the legends?"

"Legends? Like Johnny Appleseed legends?"

"No, are you related to Leoni, Alaric, and Gilbert Weillschmidt? Those legends."

"Sure, why?"

"So it _was_ you in that picture!"

"So?"

"Can you get me Gilbert's autograph?"

"Last time I checked, all his autographs are put on things with PhotoShop, and his agent signs things, not him."

"Who's he dating?" Me.

"He doesn't date, if that's what you're implying."

"Meaning he's probably got a model girlfriend." She pouts.

"That sounds like a personal problem." It is; isn't it?

– –

Word travels fast, and girls are randomly coming up to me and saying 'hi.' Nothing's really wrong with it, but it's still weird. I sit by Matt at lunch with a few other people. There's the girl who randomly gifted me a book of Mormon, the guy who listens to music and plays games on his phone all the time, and try-hard nerd – who has placed herself as my personal rival, apparently. I drink water and eat a sandwich that was professionally made by Joey. Matt eats a hot meal, from the school which is evident from the Styrofoam, white, sectional tray. The Mormon eats cereal that she brought for lunch. Guy who plays video games isn't human, because I've never seen him eat. Try-hard eats a salad everyday. Sadly, my dry humor goes unappreciated here, so I mostly keep to myself.

"So, Stephanie told Anita that you're some kind of legend in the making." Matt laughs before he can finish his thought. "Legend? Pfft, let's pose for a camera and make people buy things, so legendary."

"Right, well, Stephanie's confused. My last name is Weillschmidt, but it's not the same as _those_ Weillschmidts."

"Good, it'd be weird to be friends with a male model and all his glamorous-ness." A _gay_, _incest_-loving, male model.

"I'm pretty sure that you'd do well with that glamor."

"Sure, but where would I put it?"

"In a box of course." The try-hard taps my shoulder. "Hmmm?"

"What did you get for number ten?"

"On last night's homework, that we _already _turned in?"

"Yes, I wanted to know if I got it right!"

"Well, I got a number."

"_Great_."

"Seriously, Ludwig, who is it that you're screwing?" Matt drags me back into conversation.

"What?" It takes a while for me to register.

"Who's the girl?"

"You don't know her." She also happens to be a he which means there's a P instead of a V.

"I bet I do."

"You really don't."

"Does she go here?"

"She graduated, two years ago."

"Hmmm, _damn_, you're going for the college ladies."

"Sure."

"Shit, you have to hook me up with one of her friends!"

"I'll tell Anita."

"I don't give a shit; college women are crazy."

"I'll tell Anita."

"I seriously don't care because I know you won't."

"I will."

"In your country, you'd say 'nein.'"

"I know, but in this country? You're a dumbass."

"I'm in the top ten of our grade."

"_I'm _in the top three, but _you're_ in the top twenty."

– –

Finally, this hell is over for today, as the bell rings, but simultaneously with the bell, my phone rings. Caller I.D reads 'Sackellares, Andrew.' I hesitate picking it up.

"Hello," I answer, somewhat casually.

"Hello, Ludwig, this is Andrew Sackellares, and I will be your agent."

"Great to know double-o-seven." I joke.

"Indeed, well, you need to get down to the studio before six. Some clients want your face on their property."

"That sounds creepy."

"You'll get used to it."

**A/N:** A really late Thanksgiving update. Hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving's Day, and I am very thankful for all of my supporters and reviewers. Thank you very much.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


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